The Three of Us
by starry19
Summary: 7x13 Tag AND a collaboration with Donnamour1969 and waterbaby134. Picks up immediately post White Orchids.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: ** Hello there! I hope you're all still functioning after that finale! I needed a good 36 hours for my brain to work again. I just want to say that I am so, so very happy about how it all ended. I fully admit to being worried that I was going to be disappointed, but I definitely wasn't, and I don't think I'm ever going to be over Jane's face when she tells him she's pregnant.

Let's all keep our fingers crossed for a movie in a few years.

Now. This story.

This is a tag in three parts. The first part was written by me (no kidding, right?), and the second and third parts will be written by Donna and waterbaby134. Have I mentioned I'm excited to be working with these two lovely ladies?

**The Three of Us**

**Part I**

He lost track of how long they sat by the edge of the pond, arms around each other. He also wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, and kept doing a mixture of both.

Regardless, he was blissful. And terrified.

He fought through the fear though, just like he promised her he would, and focused on the bright side. Fortunately, it was a very large bright side.

A baby.

A tiny little miracle.

To say he hadn't been expecting this would be a vast understatement.

However, until she'd told him her news, he also hadn't realized how much he wanted it again. He had always assumed that the yearning he felt around children was because of the loss of Charlotte, not because of a desire to have _another_ child.

And yet, they were going to be doing just that.

His heart swelled with emotion. He was going to be a father again, was going to be able to rock a chubby toddler to sleep, play peek-a-boo endlessly, be covered in sticky kisses. He wanted this, wanted it with an intensity that shook him.

A lifetime ago, he'd lost both his wife and his daughter in one single night. Now, he'd gotten it back, been redeemed so far and above what he'd ever thought he deserved it was almost outrageous.

Lisbon shifted, arms slipping under his jacket. He wondered if she was cold.

He also wondered if she was quite prepared for how obsessively overprotective he was going to be, in regards to both her and the baby. Probably not, he decided.

Unconsciously, he grinned again.

"And here I thought all of these tears I've been seeing lately were just wedding jitters," he teased, kissing her temple.

"I've been a nut case lately," she replied, sounding affronted by her actions, voice muffled by his shoulder. "It's really getting out of control."

He pulled back an inch, enough that he could see her face. Then, for the first time, he rested a hand against the place where their child - _their child_ \- was growing. "Best wedding present ever," he murmured, punctuating his words with a soft kiss.

"Are you sure?" she blurted out, and he knew she'd been worried about his reaction.

"_Yes_," he told her. Emphatically. "Teresa, love, I'm not sure I could actually be happier than I am right now." He kissed her again, trying to prove his point.

With a soft sigh, she snuggled back into his arms. He continued to rock them, his mind working in a curious mix of overdrive and slowness. One moment he was planning out a nursery, the next, he was simply memorizing how the air smelled in this exact second.

In another few minutes, Lisbon spoke again. "Do you think we should get back to the party?"

He chuckled. "Do you think anyone has noticed we're gone?" he countered. From the looks of it, the answer was definitely a solid _no_. Still, he reluctantly disentangled himself from her, keeping only her hands to help her up. After all, it was _their_ wedding, and they should probably be present for a bit longer.

However, it was a long-standing tradition for the bride and groom to make an early exit. He had been planning on it, in fact, and with the knowledge of Lisbon's secret, he was more eager than ever to have his wife to himself.

As soon as the crowd in general became aware that the guests of honor were in sight again, Rigsby snagged Lisbon for a dance.

Grace appeared at his elbow. "You doing okay?" she asked, drink in one hand. "You look a little...stunned," she finally decided. "Happy, but stunned."

While he searched for something to say, Grace studied his face. Apparently, she'd learned far too much from him over the years, for she suddenly spat ice cubes back into her cup. "Oh, my God!" she practically squealed. She threw her arms around him, and he hugged her back in surrender. Part of him wanted to keep this news secret, but the rest of him knew that Grace would know soon enough anyway. Besides, she was family, like Lisbon had been so fond of saying in California.

"I'm so happy for you guys," she whispered, fiercely emotional for a second.

With a start, he realized their children would play together, and he squeezed Grace for just a heartbeat to steady himself.

"Just so you know," he said, recovering, "whatever we wind up having, boy or girl, I'm already arranging a marriage with a Rigsby offspring."

Grace laughed. "Only if your kid is exactly like Lisbon and _not_ you."

In front of them, Stan was now dancing with his sister. Jane watched her closely, looking for signs of fatigue. Instead, she looked radiant, just like she had all day.

Happiness suited her, and he was sorry again it had taken them so long to get here.

_Bright side_, he reminded himself.

They were here now. She was his wife.

The mother of his unborn child.

That was better, and his lips turned up accordingly.

He managed to steal her away for the next slow song, sighing in contentment as she laid her head against his chest.

"Ready to sneak off?" he asked, noting that she was leaning a bit heavier than normal on him.

She nodded. "I think so. My feet are starting to hurt."

Figuring she would think he was making a scene if he scooped her up and made his way to the waiting limo with her in his arms, he contented himself with slowing down the pace of their dance until they were barely swaying.

The next song was upbeat and apparently popular, and the floor was suddenly crowded. Figuring opportunities shouldn't be wasted, he laced his fingers with Lisbon's and carefully pulled her through the throng of people until they had breathing room.

He gave one backward glance as they strolled towards the black limousine he'd rented for the occasion, despite Lisbon's protests. Abbott was looking in their direction. Even at a distance, it was obvious he was smiling.

Jane nodded, and the gesture was one of both goodbye and of thanks. Without Abbott, good or bad, this day wouldn't have happened, and he would forever be grateful to the man for that.

He carried her the last twenty feet, loving the sound of her startled laughter.

They made out like teenagers on the way to the hotel, frustrated by clothing and limited by drive time.

As the lights of the city came into view, he pulled his mouth away from hers, taking several deep breaths in an effort to get himself under control. Otherwise, walking through the lobby was going to involve him holding a suitcase rather creatively in front of himself.

"Love you," he whispered, nuzzling into her cleavage before sitting up. "Let's go."

The bridal suite was spacious, boasting a king size bed and a jacuzzi tub. He mentally scratched the latter off his list. No hot tubs for another eight months or so.

Instead, he turned his full attention back to his brand new bride, who was stepping out of her shoes with a sigh of pleasure.

Definitely his cue to do whatever it took to keep her making that noise.

And so he did, pulling her flush against his body, fingers finding hidden zippers, taking great pleasure in seeing the ivory satin pool on the floor at Lisbon's feet.

He moved slowly, very slowly, taking as much time as he could.

It reminded him a great deal of their first time, where both of them knew how much this act would mean.

Later, wrapped up together under soft sheets, he kissed her tenderly. "I love you," he said, for about the sixth time that day. On impulse, he kissed her lower abdomen. "I love you, too," he breathed to his child.

When he looked back up at Lisbon, she was biting her lip, tears sliding out of the corners of her eyes.

"What?" he asked, brushing her hair out of her face. "What's wrong?"

Her smile was watery, but brilliant. "Not a thing in the world. I promise."

When she started to yawn, he pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, folding her carefully in his arms. "Go to sleep," he told her hair. "You're entitled to it."

She tipped her face up for one last kiss before giving in, her diamonds on her left hand catching on the nearly invisible light in the room and sparkling in the darkness.

He breathed in, letting the sweet feeling of peace roll into him. Today had been easily the best day of his life. He had been thrilled when he married Angela, elated when Charlotte was born. But, through no fault of his own, it had been impossible for him to fully appreciate what he had been given at the time. Now he _knew_.

It was nearly nine when she woke the next day, stretching languidly against him. He had been up for several hours, thinking, dreaming, palm protectively against their baby. He'd constantly done the same thing with Angela, too. Apparently, some of his baser instincts couldn't be denied.

Still yawning, Lisbon rolled over, arms around his waist now.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jane," he said, loving the way it sounded.

To his pleasure, she blushed at the unfamiliar title. "Morning," she shyly returned.

"Sleep well?" he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Like a log." She stretched again. "You?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he shifted until they were lying almost nose to nose. "So, I've been thinking..."

She cut off his sentence with a groan, looking pained.

"What?"

"You thinking makes me nervous."

Playfully, he scowled at her. "Like I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I've been thinking."

She sighed. "About what?"

He shrugged. "You, mainly. And the baby. And the small army of professionals I'm going to need to hire to get the house done before the aforementioned baby arrives."

Shaking her head, she smiled a touch. "We have some time, you know."

"It'll go fast," he told her. He couldn't explain the urge he felt, to have this home for his family built _now_, to have all three of them safe and sound under a roof that had only ever been theirs. Perhaps it was a consequence of his rootless childhood, being dragged from pillar to post like the gypsies they were often called.

He had overcome that lifestyle. He had put down his roots. And he wanted it to show.

Besides, there really, _really_ wasn't room for a crib in the Airstream.

They could stay at Lisbon's house, but he also disliked the idea of staying there for just a few months only to move again. He wanted their baby's first days, first steps, first everything to be in one place, somewhere that he could walk through the rooms and remember the milestones that had taken place there.

Lisbon studied his face thoughtfully. It should have scared him, how much she could see, but instead, he found it enthralling. "Okay," she finally whispered. "Let's build a house."

He didn't think she knew _why_, precisely, this mattered so much, but she simply knew that it _did_. And that was all she needed.

His smile was bright as he kissed her.

It faded away a bit after a while, but that could have been because he was busy doing other, more important things.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Donna here. I'm not surprised at all at the wonderful reception to Starry's first chapter. It was beautiful and touching. I shall do my best to carry on her good work, but I can't resist injecting some humorous reality into Lisbon's pregnancy. I wish we could see that on TV, but alas we have been given everything we will ever get on that score. And a brief word about that finale. Yes it was incredibly happy and touching, and some might even say cliché. But I really don't care. I loved it, and if we had to have an ending to this incredible series, a fanfiction come to life is good enough for me. Jane and Lisbon deserved this happiness, this redemption, and so did we, the diehard shipper fans. So I pooh-pooh you lofty cynics.

Now, my very last new tag for our beloved show *sniff*…

**Part II**

_**One month later…**_

Jane held back her hair as she vomited into the toilet. If she hadn't been certain before, _this_, she realized, was definitely true love.

With a moan of exhaustion, Lisbon sat back against the cool tiled wall of her bathroom, her eyes closed. She heard the water running in the sink as Jane wet a washcloth and squatted to press it to her forehead and cheeks, then to her mouth.

"You done?" he asked softly, though she could hear the faint smile in his voice.

She opened her eyes, blearily grateful.

"For now," she replied sheepishly. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten that entire box of chicken."

It was near the end of her first trimester, and the cravings for chicken wings and doughnuts had hit her promptly at the end of month two. So, unfortunately, had the morning sickness. And the midmorning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And—

"The baby craves protein, apparently," he reasoned, flushing the toilet with a note of finality.

"Yeah, well. Not that he—"

"_She_—" he corrected absently, continuing their ongoing argument as to the baby's gender.

"Not that _he _ever gets any of it." She glanced in annoyance at the innocent toilet. "Hell, I should have just flushed the chicken down the toilet; avoided the middleman."

Jane chuckled gently. He stood once more and filled a paper cup with water, pressing it into her shaking hand. She took a tentative sip.

"Thank you for this," he said sincerely.

"For nearly getting vomit on your shoes—again?"

He sat down next to her, knees bent, back against the wall, his hand taking hers and bringing it to his lips in commiseration.

"For suffering through all the nausea and swelling and tiredness. If I could take any of that on for you—"

"Ha," she said skeptically, though she appreciated the well-meaning tenderness of his words. "You wouldn't last a day. You're such a big baby yourself when you're sick." She glanced sidelong at him, her returning humor tempering her cynical words. "Besides, do you really want to take away _all_ of the swelling?"

Two pairs of eyes went to her burgeoning chest. A happier side effect (for both of them) had been the pleasing increase in the cup size of her bra.

He grinned. "You have a point. Well, _two_ points."

She slapped his arm playfully.

"And, as to the tiredness," he continued, capturing her other hand and holding them both to his heart as she leaned on his shoulder. "I would like to have my couch back at work. You use it more than I do these days."

She smiled dreamily. "It's a comfortable couch."

Despite his fears and pointless protests, she continued to work, and so he continued to go in with her every day for at least part of the day; the rest of the time he was busy supervising the construction at their cabin. He'd originally planned for it to be a slow, meticulous do-it-himself project, but he'd felt the pressure of time closing in on him, and his goal was to make it at least livable by the time the baby was born. This meant having a working kitchen and bathroom, their bedroom and the nursery, and a handful of contractors working ten-hour days. It would eat into his savings, but it would be completely worth it when he could bring his wife and new baby home to stay.

His plans for an additional bedroom, study, and porch could proceed after the baby was born, and he looked forward to the more leisurely pace he'd envisioned when he'd bought the place.

His silence had stretched long enough that Lisbon opened her eyes and looked up at him knowingly.

"Thinking about the cabin again, aren't you?"

He sighed. "The damn plumbing has to be entirely redone. Those pipes have been around since the Eisenhower administration."

"There's no hurry, Patrick. We can live here just fine, you know."

But she knew his reply to that; it was already an old argument among the growing list of small arguments. This time, he merely glared menacingly at her. She laughed.

"Just sayin'…"

She understood his urgent desire for things to go well, knew he wanted to start their lives together without any of the mistakes he'd made with his first marriage. He was holding his fears in check admirably, resigned to the fact that she would be working up until she gave birth, though in a couple months she would no longer go out in the field. She would take a maternity leave once the baby was born, but they'd decided that Jane would stay home with the baby when she went back, working on their house, consulting occasionally with the FBI on the more difficult cases. It seemed a happy compromise, though both of them had had enough disappointment in their lives to worry that things wouldn't go as planned.

He bent his head to kiss her temple lovingly. "I want everything to be perfect," he said simply.

"I know. And it will be."

She felt a sudden wave of nausea and quietly moaned. "You know what would make things perfect right now?"

"Ginger tea and saltines?"

She disentangled herself from his hold and moved queasily back to kneel before her old friend the commode. He rose to go put the kettle on.

"You're my hero," she said to her husband, her voice echoing in the toilet bowl.

_**The second trimester…**_

"We could have just found out the sex of the baby and have been done with this discussion once and for all," said Lisbon in irritation.

"No. I want it to be a surprise. Don't you like surprises?"

The ultrasound had gone well, the pregnancy proceeding normally, though there had been some initial concern given her age. So far, so good, she thought gratefully, as she drove them back toward the office.

"I'm a detective, Jane. My life is solving mysteries. Mysteries annoy me."

"_Everything _annoys you lately," he said under his breath.

Her moodiness had increased ten-fold with her advancing pregnancy, and when she wasn't crying inconsolably that the bakery was out of bear claws, she was yelling at Austin traffic with such fervor he feared for her blood pressure.

"_What_ did you say?" she challenged, coldly furious.  
He gave her his most beatific smile. "Nothing, dear. Deep breaths."

He made his voice soothing, lapsing into the calming tone he'd employed countless times in the last few months. She complied with a cleansing breath. His methods still worked, though she would later chide him about hypnotizing her against her will. And he would shrug, completely unapologetic, reassuring her that it wasn't exactly hypnosis.

"As to the sex of little Margaret," he continued, "all shall be revealed in time. Have patience."

"Margaret," she said, not hiding her shudder of disgust. "That sounds like someone's grandma. No, when little _Patrick _arrives—"

"We are _not _naming him after me."

"Why not? I love your name. It's a good, solid Irish name."

He rolled his eyes at that. "Ignoring the fact that, despite how much you claim to love it, you still rarely use it-for one thing, I think it's the height of arrogance to name a child after yourself."

"It's traditional," she countered mischievously.

"For another thing," he continued, ignoring her obvious bear baiting. "It's no fun being called Paddy or Pat or Saint Patrick or all the other unmanly nicknames I had to put up with growing up, plus the fact that his last name is already effeminate enough. You want traditional? Elizabeth is very traditional."

"Bah. What is it with you and naming our child after the queens of England?"

"She will be our little princess, obviously, so therefore deserves a royal name."

"Oh, brother."

"And _should _she have a brother," he said, not missing a beat, "we'll name him something at the very height of masculinity, like Bruce or Butch or Sampson."

She looked over at him, startled.

"Let's not start counting babies before they're hatched, shall we? I'll do well to survive _this_ pregnancy. Thank God the morning sickness is gone. That's something I don't want to repeat anytime soon." She felt a phantom twinge of nausea at the mere thought of it. "Though now the stretch marks and swollen ankles aren't much consolation."

"You look beautiful," he said truthfully, his eyes raking her adoringly from the passenger seat, where the seatbelt rested just below her gently swelling belly.

She blushed. "Jane."

"It's true. And while I'm sorry for your discomfort, I have to say you're dealing with it in a very satisfactory way. Especially since your mornings at the toilet have been replaced with other, _ahem_, more attractive morning activities."

His smile was wicked, remembering. Her nausea gone, she had become a tigress in the bedroom, nearly insatiable, and he was more than happy to accommodate this particular side effect of her pregnancy. She'd actually attacked him in the break room the day before while he was making tea, breaking all her heretofore stated rules about professionalism in the office. He had merely smiled as she'd taken his hand and led him to an empty interrogation room. And just this morning, he'd had a wake-up call from her that still had the power to make his heart pick up speed if he allowed himself to dwell on it, which he fully intended to do throughout the day.

Her face turned even more florid as she recalled how he'd given just as good as he'd gotten. Still, she felt the need to apologize.

"I should have let you sleep…"

"Ah no, my dear Mrs. Jane, I will gladly trade sleep for sex any day of the week. Especially when you did that thing with your—"

"Hush."

It still amused him that her Catholic upbringing made her so embarrassed at her sexuality. Well, at least _outside_ of the bedroom.

"And besides, once little Anne has arrived," he said, "you won't want to use our bed for anything else but sleeping, at least not in the first several months or so."

"_Months_?" she said in disbelief.

He could already see her mind working, calculating.

"Months," he repeated solemnly, not looking forward to the inevitable dry spell to come amidst late-night feedings and the general exhaustion of parenthood.

She abruptly exited the freeway, going across the overpass and pointing the car in the opposite direction.

Toward home.

She glanced at the dashboard clock.

"We've got plenty of time before the staff meeting this afternoon," she said, glancing at her husband pointedly. "_If _you hurry."

His hands went to his belt in anticipation, and with a mock sigh of resignation, he put on his most supportive face.

"A husband's work is never done…"

**A/N: I have often claimed I would never write a baby fic. This is as close as I get, lol. I hope you enjoyed it. Now, sit tight for waterbaby's contribution. I look forward to it myself.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey there Mentalistas. I, waterbaby134 was honoured to be asked by Donna and starry to participate in this tag. I can only hope to live up to the flawless chapters they both have contributed to this story.**

**I've never written a babyfic before, and have no personal experience in this area, so I'm a little nervous about this, but I enjoyed writing it a lot. And needless to say, working with these two extremely talented ladies is a true privilege.**

**Thanks must go to glindaloveshoes for her unwavering support, as I doubted myself.**

**Part III**

**The third trimester…**

It had been a race against the clock to have the house ready for the baby's arrival. As Teresa's due date had gotten closer, Jane had been working the contractors overtime to get the place into shape.

There'd been more than one argument between him and a disgruntled plumber or electrician as the work progressed and Teresa's stomach grew. He'd have kept them working around the clock if he'd been able to, but instead he'd been forced to simply shell out more money as an inducement to keep them on the site for as long as possible each day. But no matter how fast they worked, or how many bills moved from his hand to their pockets, the fear that they would not be finished in time gnawed at him a little more every day. It was his responsibility as a husband and father to provide his new family with a roof over their heads, and the way things looked at the moment, he was going to fail at the first test.

He arrived back at Teresa's house in a bad mood, and slammed the door to the Airstream with unnecessary force. What the_ hell_ had he been thinking, taking on a project this big in such a short timeframe? Hubris had always been one of his biggest failings, and the fact that he'd thought he could pull this off in only a few months now seemed laughable.

He forced himself to pause before he reached the door, and take a few calming breaths. It wouldn't do to have Teresa see him freaking out like this, the last thing she needed was stress in her final trimester.

It wouldn't be long now, her due date was only weeks away, she was exhausted all the time and taking bathroom breaks with such frequency that they'd decided to switch sides of the bed so as to give her a shorter walk to the bathroom during the night. Today had been her last day of work before her maternity leave kicked in and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't grateful. She'd stopped going out into the field a month ago, but it had made uncomfortable to think that he wasn't around to help her if she'd needed something. Cho and his team had of course stepped up to the task with gusto, but as her husband, all the food cravings, and back pain were supposed to be his duty to attend to.

Well, he said 'duty' but in truth, he'd cherished almost every second of it. He'd never thought he'd be given a chance like this again, so every back rub and late night strawberry run had felt like a gift to the wonderful woman who had made it happen.

She looked around when she heard his key turn in the lock and smiled at him. She was lying on her side on the couch, munching on a bowl of peanuts as the evening news played out on the TV screen. Despite his annoyance with himself, he smiled a genuine smile back at her; she still lit up the room like she always had.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, kissing her gently. "How's my beautiful wife this evening?"

"Your child spent most of the day kicking the hell out of me," she said, trying with difficulty to pull herself upright and he hurried to her side to help her.

"Well you can't blame that on me," he said, once he'd gotten her settled again. "Kicking ass and taking names is your forte darling, not mine. And the baby's been spending most of her time around other ass-kicking cops, it's no wonder that she's picked up a few things."

"Well now_ he_ seems to have taken a leaf out of your book and gone to sleep," she said, resting her hands lightly on her stomach.

"_She's_ had a big day," said Jane. "Fighting crime before she's even born yet has got to be some kind of record."

Teresa rolled her eyes. 'I can't believe that you're still fighting me on this. I've told you before, the baby's going to be a boy."

He chuckled a little, and kissed the top of her head. 'Sweetheart, when am I ever wrong about these kind of things? If you'd just accept it, things would be a lot easier around here."

'The day I admit that you're always right is the day Cho tells us he's quitting the FBI to become a can-can dancer," she retorted, but he could hear the affection under her annoyance, and leaned down to kiss her again.

"I look forward to that day," he said. "And now for _two_ reasons."

She was gazing at him intently as he pulled away from the kiss, beautiful green eyes probing his.

He really hoped the baby would have her eyes.

The familiar little crinkle in her forehead began to appear and the smile slowly slid from her face.

"You're upset," she said, still surveying him carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, casually, and then looked down at the half empty bowl of peanuts. "Let's get some real food into you." His planned escape was halted when she suddenly reached for his hand and held it fast.

"Liar," she said, without an ounce of self-doubt. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"It's nothing," he insisted. "And I don't want you to get upset over nothing."

The questioning look turned into a glare. "Since when is it a good idea to anger a heavily pregnant woman?" she snapped. "I can't be held responsible for my actions if you piss me off, so you better start talking."

So he told her everything. About the problems with the power supply, about all the busted pipes in the bathroom. How three of the contractors had approached him on separate occasions today with some new unforeseen cost that had to be paid right away. How at the rate they were going, they'd be lucky to have a house to move into in a year, never mind a couple of weeks.

"I'm sorry," he said, when he'd finished, pulling her into his arms (as best he could, given the baby bump.) "All I wanted was for everything to be perfect for you and the baby, but I think the universe is conspiring against me."

"Hey." Her fingers pulled gently through his hair. "I don't care if we have to stay here a little longer. I don't even care if takes you another decade to get the house finished, I've already got everything I need right here. I've got you, and the baby, and that's all that matters. Ooh!"

Alarmed, Jane pulled away from the hug and held her at arm's length. "What's wrong?"

"It's OK, it's OK," she caught her breath. "I think the baby's ears were burning, he just kicked me again."

He laid a gentle hand on her stomach to feel the baby bounce back at him, as though responding to his presence. Not for the first time, he wondered if it knew that he was there, Teresa said the strongest kicks tended to happen when he was around.

"We're going to be OK, you know," she said. "The three of us. Even if we somehow end up camping in the Airstream for a few days with a newborn. We're going to be just fine."

Somehow (and he flatly refused to attribute it to divine intervention, no matter how much Teresa insisted) the house was deemed to be liveable a few days before the due date. Perhaps the contractors had been appreciative of his increasingly deep pockets over the last few months, or perhaps they'd simply had enough of his constant nagging, but they'd done the hard yards over the course of a week and got the job done.

He felt a surge of pride as he led Teresa by the arm towards their new home. Almost everything had fallen into place, now they were just waiting for the final piece of the puzzle.

Teresa's due date came. And went. In a private moment, Jane had almost laughed at the irony of it all. He'd been rushing to beat the baby's arrival, but it seemed that their child had no intention of going anywhere for the moment. But of course, with his pigheadedness and Teresa's stubbornness in the mix, he supposed he shouldn't have expected anything less.

Two days passed, and then three. Teresa was getting increasingly uncomfortable, and therefore increasingly irritable. Being as he was the only one around, he found himself the constant target of her anger, but he found he was handling it better than he had when Angela had been pregnant. After all, he'd had many years of practice at withstanding her furious tirades, and he knew it would all be worth it when their child finally arrived.

Four days overdue, Teresa's water suddenly broke in the parking lot of the local farmer's market. They'd gone out for the morning and made a stop on the way back in order to stock up their kitchen with fresh fruit and vegetables. Instead, the contractions had started as they'd been walking back to the car, Teresa's involuntary shriek of surprise drawing the attention of several other patrons, and startling him so much that the bag of food promptly hit the ground.

His heart broke to see her face screwed up in pain, as she desperately clutched at his arm and a few of the curious bystanders came rushing to their aid.

"Patrick," she managed to say over the surrounding furore. "I am _not_ having this baby in a parking lot with twenty people watching. I don't care how you do it, but get me to the hospital. Now."

With the assistance of a burly young man from the nearest fruit stand, Jane helped his wife back to the car and got her back into her seat. Rushing around to the driver's side, he noticed the remains of their shopping strewn around the parking lot and cringed.

"Don't worry about it man," his young helper said. "We'll take care of it. You've got somewhere more important to be."

Gunning the engine, and peeling out of the parking space, he was almost relived when another contraction began as the watching crowd burst into applause. Teresa would have been mortified.

The newest Jane was going to be a handful; he knew it for sure now. He or she was clearly already well versed in making a scene.

Almost twelve hours later, a nurse placed their newborn baby into Teresa's arms. Her brow was shining with sweat, and her face was flushed red from the exertion, but to him she'd never looked more beautiful, as she smiled down at their son.

He was a father again. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then a long kiss to her lips, while the baby squirmed between them.

"I'm so proud of you," he told her. "He's perfect."

"I told you he was going to be a boy." The experience of the labour seemed to have temporarily robbed his angry little princess of a little of her boundless stores of energy, but she still managed to shoot him a triumphant smile at beating him. Some things never changed.

"Yes you did. But you know, I've never cared so little about being wrong," he said. "I love him." He kissed the baby's head, and then his wife again. "And I love you. So very, very much."

"Come here," she said, and as he leaned towards her, she captured his lips in another long kiss, only broken when their son made a sudden cooing noise.

"Sorry kid," Jane said, with a smile. "You're gonna have to get used to seeing that. In eighteen years you'll understand."

"Eighteen?" she scoffed. "If he grows up to look anything like you, the girls will be chasing after him long before that."

"And then running in the opposite direction when his gun-toting, overprotective mommy and Uncle Cho tell them to leave him alone."

Teresa shifted the baby a little in her arms, as he gurgled happily up at them both.

"So what are we going to call him?" he asked her. "I was really hoping for Elizabeth, but under the circumstances, I'm thinking it would be a little inappropriate."

Convinced as she had been that they would be having a son, Teresa had been giving it a lot of thought during her pregnancy, and she kept coming back to that first conversation they'd had in the car coming back from the doctor's office, about Irish names.

"I'd really like to name him Aidan, after my grandfather," she said. "What do you think of that?"

"Aidan," he echoed. "That's a good strong name. And if nothing else, your grandfather did have excellent taste in cars." He smiled down at his son. "I like it. Aidan Jane."

"Aidan _Patrick _Jane," she said, avoiding her husband's eyeline by adjusting the baby's blanket, and he sighed.

"Sweetheart, we talked about this," he said. "I _told_ you I didn't want to name him after myself."

"It's his _middle _name," she said. "And I think I deserve something for being right about the gender." She opened her eyes wide, and bit her lip in the way she knew always drove him crazy. "Please?"

He sighed once more. "All right. You just had my baby, so I guess I can't say no to you right now."

She grinned cheekily back at him. "I knew I could get you to agree. It was all in the timing."

Jane shook his head in mock disbelief. Even now, a few minutes after having a baby, she was still keeping him on his toes. He was a lucky man.

"Well played, my lovely wife. Well played."

**Six weeks later…**

As the wails of their newborn son pierced the air, Teresa was inherently grateful that their home was isolated enough for them not to have any immediate neighbours. If they had, they'd no doubt have been knocking their door down weeks ago, demanding they keep the noise down, and being as exhausted and sleep-deprived as she was, she might have been a little less than neighbourly about it.

There was once a time when she would have been able to sleep through an express train trundling through her bedroom, but now she was instantly attuned to every sound coming from the next room. At the first sounds of Aidan stirring, she'd been hoping if she left him be, he might settle down again on his own, but no such luck. He was very much his father's son when it came to drama and craving her attention. The thought made her smile. His middle name certainly was a fitting one.

Here she was, Teresa Lisbon, wife and mother. Who would have thought it?

At her side, said husband grunted in his sleep and rolled over, and in the dark, she rolled her eyes. After almost a decade of chronic insomnia, of course he would choose _now _to start sleeping peacefully through almost every night, so much so that she had to physically kick him out of the bed sometimes when it was his turn to get up with their son.

He certainly did look peaceful, he was even smiling a little in his sleep and she wondered if he were dreaming about her. He sometimes did; she heard him murmuring her name under his breath every now and then. She tended to leave him to sleep on those occasions, but she'd be starting back at work in a couple of weeks and she needed to catch up on her sleep.

She tried whispering his name, and shaking him, but he slept on, so she switched tactics by reaching over and poking his shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," he grumbled, eyes opening sleepily. "What was that for?"

"Your son is awake."

"So is yours." He pulled the covers back over himself.

"It's your turn," she said, snatching them away from him again, and grinning at his decidedly unmanly whimper of protest.

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't. I distinctly remember getting up with him several hours ago." He tapped his temple. "Memory palace, my dear," he said. "I never forget."

"If you don't get out of this bed in the next five seconds, I'll give you an ass kicking you won't soon forget either," she snapped.

"Well that would be a shameful waste of energy," he said, "considering the other, pleasanter things we could do in this bed." Under the covers, his hand found her thigh and began to gently stroke it.

She couldn't completely suppress her body's reaction to his touch; it had after all, been a while since they'd last had sex, but she wasn't about to let him use her pent-up frustration just to get himself out of this. So she reluctantly peeled his hand from her thigh.

"Nice try. Go."

She felt an odd mixture of satisfaction and disappointment as he sighed, and slowly pulled himself out of the bed as the baby's cries in the next room reached a sudden crescendo.

"All right," he muttered to himself. "I'm coming, buddy." Then, he pulled on a pair of pyjama pants and shuffled out the door.

In the next room, she could just make out his soft voice as he attempted to settle Aidan, whispering, crooning, and even a few bars of an old lullaby she'd used to sing to her brothers. She pictured him cradling their son in his arms, rocking him gently with that loving look in his eyes like she'd seen him do ever since the day he was born.

She'd never forget waking up after the delivery to see him holding Adian for the first time, father and son. She'd never seen him look so happy, and the baby had been staring up at him too with almost equal adoration, as though he knew already how much he was loved. He'd grow to up to idolise his father, she could already tell, and she knew she'd have to mentally prepare herself for having _two_ mischievous males running around the house. They would be partners-in-crime, just as she and Jane had once been, and maybe she might even be able to persuade them to let her join them sometimes.

The baby's cries continued for some time, and when they failed to cease, Jane carried their son into their bedroom, jiggling him in the hopes of calming him.

"Never send a man to do a woman's job," he said, approaching the bed, and gently transferring the baby from his arms to hers. "I think he just wants his mommy right now."

'Shhh,' she held her son against her and hoped that the steady sound of her heartbeat might soothe him. "It's OK," she whispered. "It's OK. Mommy's here now. It's OK."

She felt the mattress shift beneath her as Jane got back into bed beside her, and slipped his arms around her shoulders.

"Look," he said. "He's already starting to calm down a little. He just wants to get in good with the ladies."

"Like father, like son," she said, with a laugh, as the baby's cries finally subsided and his eyes began to close. They stayed silent for a few minutes for fear of rousing him again, and it was only when she was confident that their son had fallen properly asleep that she turned to her husband again.

"Thank you," she said. "You've given me everything I ever wanted."

He drew her to him, and kissed her again. "And you've given me more than I ever thought I could possibly deserve. I love you."

"I love you too. And I know the three of us are going to be happy here."

"Did you get a glimpse of the future then, Teresa Lisbon Jane?" he said with a chuckle.

"Of course not," she whispered, nestling further into his arms. "Everyone knows there's no such thing as psychics."

**AN: Starry here! I hope everyone enjoyed reading this little fic of ours! We had a fun time writing it! Stay tuned for more stories from each of us (individually and maybe together again sometime ;) ) - just because the show is over doesn't mean the fun is ending! If you're interested, the three of us (har har, see what I did there?) are all on Twitter: donnamour1969, waterbaby_134, and starrynineteen (someone is apparently using my number). Thanks for reading! **


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